


That's Life

by drinkyourfreakingmilk



Series: Mojave Rust; Vegas Gold [1]
Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Attempted Murder, Canon Typical Violence, Depression, Drug Abuse, Mention of Death, Substance Abuse, but it turned into something i might want to continue, decapitation is mentioned, this was supposed to be me venting through my oc, we'll see
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:22:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22257145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drinkyourfreakingmilk/pseuds/drinkyourfreakingmilk
Summary: "That's life, that's life,that's life,And I can't deny it.Many times I thought of cuttin' out but my heart won't buy it.But if there's nothing shakin' come here this July,I'm gonna roll myself up in a big ball and die."
Relationships: Craig Boone/Female Courier
Series: Mojave Rust; Vegas Gold [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1602196
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	That's Life

_That's life (that's life), that's what people say._

_You're riding high in April,_

_Shot down in May._

_But I know I'm gonna change that tune_

_When I'm back on top, back on top in June._

The woman snorted at the soft music coming from the radio. She puffed again, breathing the burning smoke into her lungs. She’d definitely know what life’s like, despite not remembering her own.

The Tops’ neon sign across the street illuminated the room she sat in, curled up on a ratty old couch as she stared down at the Strip. She had to admit, as much as she hated it here, sitting like a duck up in the ’38, the city was gorgeous at night. Dizzyingly so. If she stared at the blinking, twinkling lights long enough, they all blended into a blur that left her on a high that couldn’t compare to anything she’d done before.

Some nights, the alcohol wasn’t enough, so she took a habit of tuning in to the radio at ungodly hours in the morning. Soon enough, she learned that was when they played her favorite songs.

Cass would disapprove. That woman always refused to indulge her in any bad habit. Cass had been through so much that it was normal for her, but her problems weren’t so much with _herself_ as they were with the Crimson Caravan.

Ah… Rose of Sharon Cassidy. What a person. It had been a while since Cass had written her. Seemed like that was the norm now, even if her old letters had profusely apologized for being so caught up with work.

Well, she was lucky she still found work. She was lucky it was what she wanted to do.

_I said, that's life (that's life) and as funny as it may seem._

_Some people get their kicks,_

_Stompin' on a dream,_

_But I don't let it, let it get me down,_

_'Cause this fine old world it keeps spinnin' around._

‘Amen, Sinatra,’ she thought, eyes straining to follow a drunken gambler stumbling down the street towards the Freeside gate.

She never really had a dream, though. Maybe when she wasn’t the person she was now, but… Not now. Not ever.

Benny had forced her hand. She didn’t want to kill him. She never _wanted_ to kill anyone.

Benny had ended her life that night, no matter how she looked at it. She didn’t blame him. Not anymore, not after his blood was on her hands. Not after all the grime and filth she had to sift through to get to him. She liked to think sometimes, if he hadn’t shot first, maybe they had a chance at being friends. Co-conspirators, at the very least.

_I've been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate,_

_A poet, a pawn and a king._

_I've been up and down and over and out,_

_And I know one thing._

_Each time I find myself flat on my face,_

_I pick myself up and get back in the race._

The music picked up and the woman forced her eyes back open once she realized she started dozing off, momentarily blinded by the blur she saw of the outside world through her tears. She had _tried so hard_ to pick herself up again, but the race was over. The war was over and nobody needed her anymore.

She pushed herself to sit up, rubbing her eyes roughly. She didn’t cry. Not over the shit that she’d done. Raul had tried to convince her that it was just how life was out here, that she was too hard on herself, that she didn’t need to beat herself up over every one of her actions.

The memory of _that_ night was still all too vivid. Even after a year and a half. The feeling of the bullet piercing her skull. A second one slamming into her forehead, just above the first a second later. The way she crumpled to the dirt, the exploding pain strong enough to make her think she’d died and gone to hell. She remembered waking up in the sweet old Doc’s house, having forgotten every word of English she’d known. Trudy was the only one who was able to understand her.

She thought she’d been doing the right thing. She never stole, never shot first, no matter how much Boone wanted to charge into Legion camps guns blazing. Her words were her ammunition, the way she twisted them into intricate traps her weapons. Arcade was always impressed how she talked in circles to get her way, how she always knew exactly the right thing to say to someone she’d barely known for twelve seconds.

She’d been used by the NCR, used by House, by Benny, by _Caesar_ , which was, in its own right, pathetic. She had been stomped on again, and again, and _again_ by people she thought she could trust.

She’d intimidated Oliver’s troops away from Hoover Dam. Put House to rest. Choked the life out of Benny’s eyes with his own belt. Cut Caesar’s head off his shoulders, mounted it on a stick and stuck it in front of the Fort’s gates.

There hadn’t been a single night since then that they didn’t haunt her.

She had a city to run, but how could she deal with that when she was running from these ghosts? These regrets, this… _urge_ to leave everything and everyone and _disappear_?

She had tried it before. Veronica had been the one to catch her, inches away from the ’38 doors. The woman had broken down then and there, spilled everything to the scribe and allowed herself to be carried back to her suite.

Only Veronica had stayed with her and even then, left for days at a time doing odd jobs. Boone had re-enlisted. Arcade was always needed down at the Mormon Fort. Lily had lost her mind one night and had run off, never to be seen again. Raul needed space from her because she’d gone too far by mentioning his sister in one of their fights. Cass had her caravans to manage. Rex… poor, sweet Rex had passed away weeks ago. ED-E had bugged and disappeared earlier that month. Maybe, just _maybe_ , she resented them all for leaving.

Veronica was only there because the Brotherhood refused to take her back once they’d learned she’d helped the Courier. The Courier knew this hadn’t been her first choice.

_That's life (that's life) I tell ya, I can't deny it._

_I thought of quitting, baby,_

_But my heart just ain't gonna buy it._

_And if I didn't think it was worth one single try,_

_I'd jump right on a big bird and then I'd fly._

She had definitely thought of quitting. So many times had she stood on the ledge she was looking out over that very moment, ready to end it all. Countless times she’d taken too much jet and hoped to die quietly in her bed. All too often had she drunken herself into a stupor and wandered around Freeside, hoping some thug would see her as an easy target and stab her then and there.

It sometimes worked, and she’d wake up patched up with Arcade’s disappointed expression staring down at her as she lied in a tent in the old fort. He never said anything, but she knew what he was thinking.

“If I had the chance to be different I would take it in a heartbeat,” she’d croaked at him once, after having mixed too much Med-X and whiskey. It wouldn’t have been for her, though. It would be for everyone who wanted better for her. She was perfectly content with her state.

How she wished she could fly. Far away, where nobody knew her as _The Courier_ , the savior of the Mojave. She was rusted metal, worn down and exhausted, and Vegas was made of pure gold. She didn’t belong here.

Her teeth clamped down on her fingernails, biting hard enough to draw blood from under the nail. She couldn’t feel it, though, the haze from the Med-X was too numbing. It was supposed to nurse a bullet wound in her thigh, but she found injecting it into her arm was the best way to get high quickly.

She sighed, leaning her head back on the couch and closing her eyes.

_I've been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate,_

_A poet, a pawn and a king._

_I've been up and down and over and out,_

_And I know one thing._

_Each time I find myself layin' flat on my face,_

_I just pick myself up and get back in the race._

If she could just… _remember_ her past. Maybe she had a family she’d abandoned. Maybe they depended on her and they were all dead now. Maybe… just maybe, she’d been as alone as she felt now. Maybe she had been nobody special to anybody.

When she woke up in Goodsprings the only possession she had on her was a ring. It wasn’t on her left hand, so she figured she hadn’t been married, but the small silver band comforted her. Maybe it was from her parents. Unconsciously, she turned it around her finger as the song surged, feeding her dizzy mind and helping it buzz with ideas of attempting to run away again. Even after the second battle of Hoover Dam, nobody had tried to come forward to say they knew of her past. It wasn’t fair.

“Drinking again? Thought you stopped after the last time,” a gravelly voice sounded from behind her.

_That's life (that's life) that's life,_

_And I can't deny it._

_Many times I thought of cuttin' out but my heart won't buy it._

_But if there's nothing shakin' come here this July,_

_I'm gonna roll myself up in a big ball and die._

_My, my._

“Boone.”

“Laura,” he replied, settling down beside her. The silence deafened them both.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on duty right now?” she slurred quietly, reaching over the table to turn down the sound of the radio as Mr. New Vegas’ voice crackled through.

“Got a few days’ break,” he said, eyeing the cigarette that hung from her mouth, the bottle of whiskey and the empty Med-X syringe on the coffee table. She couldn’t fool him. “You shouldn’t be mixing that.”

“Fuck off, man. Don’ – don’ come back here jus’ to lecture me. Don’ wanna hear it.”

“Who’s gonna tell you off otherwise?” he sighed, slipping his sunglasses off to massage his temples.

Laura dragged out her last puff and crushed the cigarette against her leather padding, tossing it to the floor. The securitrons would clean it up later. “’M sorry. Sorry I can’t be better.”

Boone stayed silent, staring out at the Strip with her. They both knew he couldn’t say it wasn’t her fault. “Yeah.”

“You still wearin’ those glasses? I’s like –” Laura paused, flipping her PipBoy over, squinting at the glowing screen. “– 3 in the mornin’. Shiiiit, man. Thought you woulda gotten rid of ‘em by now.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

Silence again. Someone was throwing up on the streets just below the glass window, and the retching could be heard from the open window. Boone pulled a disgusted face that had Laura smiling briefly.

“How’s th’ army been? As glorious as I hear?”

“Thinking of dropping out again. Thought it’d help me, thought they’d learned their lesson and changed for the better, but it’s still the same. So much shit goes unnoticed by higher-ups.” He paused. “Might be worse now than before.”

Laura chuckled, laying her head onto his shoulder. “You’re welcome. Kimball must be going insane.”

“Got fired. There’s a new president now. Don’t you read the news?”

“Nah. Ain’t got time to read, Craig. Too busy running Vegas,” she giggled, patting his arm.

“And shooting up.”

She stopped laughing. “It keeps my mind offa things. Helps a lot.” Her tone was defensive, as it got when she knew he was right. Her smile sunk when she looked up at his hard expression. “I missed you. ‘Ronica’s always on my case ‘bout somethin’ or other. Sometimes I feel like just getting up and leaving, y’know?”

“Yeah.”

“Still as much as a conversation killer as before, huh? Loosen _up_ , Boone. Stop shoving that stick so far up your ass.” Was that shame in her voice? Guilt? He couldn’t pinpoint it.

This wasn’t getting anywhere. She was talking in circles again and his head was already spinning. “Stop. Just… just stop. This won’t change my mind.”

“Mmm. I know. Jus’ buyin’ time before you leave again. Can you move?”

Boone sat up and scooted further away on the couch, but furrowed his brows in confusion when she stopped him before he could get far. Laura kicked her worn boots up onto the couch and laid her head on his thighs, sighing contentedly. “Laura –”

Laura shushed him softly, humming as his hand carded through her hair. “Lemme sleep. We’ll talk t’morrow.” It seemed as if for a few moments she was fighting off the urge to sleep, eyes fluttering tiredly before they shut for the night. Boone huffed, gaze going back to watching out the window.

A few minutes passed before he heard her voice again, albeit barely audible above Bobby Darin’s filtering through the dingy old radio. “I’m sorry I’m not better, Craig. I’m sorry I can’t do anything useful anymore. I just want everyone to forget me so I can stop hurting them.”

It was his turn to shush her this time. “Sleep. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

fin.

**Author's Note:**

> i might wanna continue this some day but for now it's staying as a oneshot
> 
> if anyone's curious as to what my courier looks like, here's a screenshot of a drawing i did of her: https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/626451648587497482/666406881803108354/unknown.png
> 
> song i wrote this to: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KIiUqfxFttM
> 
> thank you for reading!!  
> tw: https://twitter.com/miyagiie (mostly destiny and fallout)


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